Self Pity
by Zevazo
Summary: Regulus is the head of the Black family now that Sirius has run away, and he has a lot to live up to.


Disclaimer – The boat is J.K. Rowling's. I'm just paddling.

Note - basically the same universe as _Victim, _but no real connection to that story except as background.

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Self-Pity

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Regulus had hardly changed the study at all since he began to work there. His mother never had worked there, preferring to conduct business from the downstairs parlor, so it had gone unused for five years. He'd rearranged a few books, putting the ones he felt he'd be needing on one end of the shelf, along with a few from the library, and he'd moved his own quills and paperweights to the top of the teakwood desk, but otherwise it still bore the mark of his father's personality. He spent most of his time these days either looking after his mother or in here, conducting the family business. His uncle Alphard, being a younger brother himself, still handled what Regulus liked to call the "acquisitive side" of the family finances. He should have been relieved of this on Regulus's majority, but Regulus still had the heir's business to conduct. Now that Sirius was gone, and his father dead, Regulus was the only male left in the direct line of succession. 

His other uncle, Avaric, had never contributed to business matters, paraphrasing Roosevelt when challenged: "I can help run the Black family or I can control my daughters. I cannot possibly do both." Regulus thought he was being lazy. Narcissa, after all, was a blessing to the man. She'd married obediently and well three days after leaving Hogwarts and remained as loyal a Black as a Malfoy. Bellatrix, the next one down, had little loyalty to either, but gains for the Black family were gains for her, and she was a truly formidable woman. She accepted no "control" from her father and had never needed any. Regulus saw her often at meetings with their lord. Andromeda was a holy terror, but still, all three daughters had left home, and Avaric, of course, had not lifted a finger to help his sixteen-year-old nephew take on the burden of family business and the crazy old beldame currently ensconced in the master suite making life as difficult as possible for everyone she came in contact with . . .

But self-pity was a waste of time and Regulus never indulged in it.

Instead, he picked up the letter-opener and began to go through today's pile of correspondence.

On the top was a formally worded supplication from St. Mungo's citing their desperate need for funding in the mental health department and the previous generosity of the Black family (that generosity dated from Sirius's brief confinement there, five years ago).

Regulus wrote a polite letter back along with a promissory note for five hundred Galleons from the extensive family vaults.

Next, a Gringotts statement which Regulus barely skimmed, proclaiming that his application to become primary possessor of funds had been accepted. _Enough rigamarole about that_, Regulus thought.

Next again, an invitation to a debut ball for the youngest Mortixer daughter. He received a lot of these, some still directed toward Sirius, because not everyone knew Sirius had left. Regulus briefly wondered about his brother; Sirius had claimed he was going to the Potters, but Regulus knew for a fact he had been living on the streets as of two weeks ago. If only those ignorant fathers knew who they were offering their maiden daughters to! Regulus was darkly amused by their hopeful notes. Even the infamous blood traitor was still the Black family heir, it seemed. The notes for Sirius tended to be from families on the shallow end of the pure-blood gene pool. Those whose rank matched the Blacks' already knew that Sirius was disowned, and flung their daughters at Regulus's head instead.

Then there were two formal dinner invitations – Regulus penned a gracefully worded decline to each, citing his mother's "delicate state of health" as of late – and a letter from Hogwarts.

Regulus looked at that one for a moment, then, against his better judgement, tore it open.

The standard note fell out, followed by the booklist. Regulus read them both over. Then he read them again, surprised by the pain he was feeling.

_Maybe Uncle Avaric would let her stay with him – or Kreacher could take care of her in the daytime and I could come home at nights _– Regulus sighed and rested his brow on his hand.

_No._

_Sirius will go back at the end of the summer. I'll sit here dealing with his party invitations and his finances and his insane mother, I'll sit here and be a poor substitute for the wonderful Sirius Black, and Mother will call me Sirius and _think_ I'm Sirius, as though to remind me that he's away at school for his wonderful seventh year and I'm_

( – "No, I won't leave you," said Sirius – )

_and I'm here at home, taking correspondence classes and caring for the bitch in the master bedroom, letting her throw priceless china at me and waiting for the burnto start onmy arm, and that's duty too, that's what I do because I'm the firstborn son _and_ the secondborn now, I have to be Regulus _and_ Sirius, but I can do it. I can handle this; I'm more intelligent than he is, though not smarter; I'm as good as he is, though not much better; I can be him, too._

And the Black line would live on. This was the home that would never break, this was the tradition that would never fail, this was the line that would never die.

Regulus Black knew that he had a responsibility. Sirius had run out on his crazy mother,murdered father and too-trusting brother, but Regulus would hold that up. And he was glad of it.

Regulus looked again at his letter refusing the pre-engagement debut ball for Celeste Mortixer. Perhaps he would go to that after all. An engagement. He'd have to negotiate his own, of course. Not tradition, that. But . . . become engaged, and he increased his status in the pure-blood world; he freed his house, at least partially, from the influence of the Malfoys; he established himself as heir in Sirius's place. That last one was probably the real reason why he dropped his refusal into the wastepaper basket.

He leaned back in his chair, tilted his head back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Then he slid the two sheets of parchment which bore the Hogwarts crest back into their envelope and tossed it all into the fire.

Self-pity was a waste of time. Regulus would not let himself indulge in it.


End file.
